


Here I Dreamt I Was an Architect

by InkStainsOnMyHands



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Family Secrets, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3794248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainsOnMyHands/pseuds/InkStainsOnMyHands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takahiro Hamada was ten years old when he discovered that his parents were siblings. </p><p>Sequel to "The Color of Jupiter" and "Don't You Mind".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here I Dreamt I Was an Architect

**Author's Note:**

> I love this kid way too much. 
> 
> I have this head canon that Hiro and Tadashi would try to hide their past as much as they could, so Takahiro didn't feel weird about it. Nonetheless, family secrets always have a way of coming out. 
> 
> Another head canon is that Takahiro is no robotics genius (although he knows his way around equipment in a pinch), but he is a musical prodigy. He can pick up an instrument and learn to play in a few hours by ear alone.

Takahiro Hamada was ten years old when he discovered that his parents were siblings. 

Even as his whole world crashed around him, he couldn’t believe how extraordinarily long it took for the puzzle pieces of his origin to come together. He lacked his parent’s brilliance when it came to robotics, but surely he should have been smart enough to pick up on the fact that Hiro and Tadashi Hamada were biologically related before then. Yet, he had been ignorant to that fact until he discovered his father’s old guitar. 

In the closet, the instrument rested untouched, collecting dust in the attic-turned-bedroom of his Grandma Cass’ home. He knew, even then, that Grandma Cass was, in actuality, his great aunt, but because (what he had thought were) neither set of his grandparents were alive, she filled in that role rather nicely. She was the confidant, the caretaker, the go-to babysitter, which was why he had been staying with her for the weekend while his parents were at some boring conference. 

Takahiro brought the guitar down to the cafe, which had been cleared of the lunch crowd that previous hour. A few patrons did walk in and out, but he was virtually alone with his Grandmother, who had been wiping down the front counter. 

“Whose guitar is this?” he asked without waiting for Cass’ acknowledgement of his presence. He held the three-quarter sized instrument out in front of him. 

Cass looked up and smiled warmly at the spanish-style, nylon-stringed guitar. “Oh!” she cooed, “That belonged to your father when he was around your age. I haven’t seen that old thing in years, but he used to play it all the time for - well, he stopped practicing when he got into college.” 

Funny, he never pegged his pop to be much of a musician. Takahiro said so himself, but his grandmother quickly corrected him. “No, it was Tadashi’s.” 

Tadashi? But, he was always led to believe that his pop was his grandmother’s nephew. Why would Tadashi’s things be at her house? That was when it occurred to him that no one explicitly told him how the family tree was aligned. Out of sheer curiosity, he asked, “Wait, which one of my dads is your nephew?” 

Cass froze. She looked as though she were a wandering animal staring into the headlights of someone’s car. Takahiro, in his brilliant impatience, called out to his grandmother, stretching it out the term of endearment into multiple syllables. 

“Hmm? Um.” Cass coughed. She resumed her wiping of the counter, although she could not feign nonchalance to save her life. Takahiro almost, almost, felt sorry for his grandmother as her fluster made its way to her flushed cheeks and narrowed eyebrows. 

“Grandma, this shouldn’t be that hard of a question,” he quipped, unable to pull the sarcasm from his tone even if he had tried. 

“You’ll need to talk to your parents about that,” she answered simply without meeting his eyes. 

Then, all at once, it came together. The childhood photos of them together, their resemblance to one another, the fact that he was forced to call Tadashi his uncle in public (which he had previously assumed was due to their fear of homophobia), even down to his pop’s young age was explained by an unnatural familial bond. His entire being felt frozen as a shiver ran down his spine. A cold sweat broke out over his forehead. 

“Whoa,” the word rushed out of his lungs with a single exhale of breath. “You mean to tell me that they’re cousins, or something?” 

Aunt Cass didn’t look up, but Takahiro caught the way she bit her bottom lip and her shoulders tensed. He wasn’t right, but he was close...oh, oh no. 

“No,” Takahiro gasped out as his brain cruelly filled in the blank spaces of his past in rough, almost physically painful clarity. “No, no, no, no,” he repeated over and over again; his heart drummed forcefully against its cage with every denial. His lungs burned, demanding for more oxygen than he could take in. 

Cass looked up from her work. Her features betrayed her concern as her grandchild panicked before her. She reached over and took him by the shoulders, which mercifully anchored him to his present reality. “Honey,” she said, steady and resolute, “Breathe, okay? We’ll talk about this after I close the cafe, alright?” 

Robotically, he nodded his head. With each movement, more and more of his thoughts and feelings emptied themselves from him. He felt numb, almost comfortably so. Without thought, he turned on his heel and walked back upstairs to his parent(s)’ old bedroom. 

\--- 

Though he had never prepared a guitar to be played before, it was pretty simple with the electronic tuning device that was stored on the shelves just above where he found the guitar. With a fresh pair of batteries, the green and red LED lights on the tuner indicated how tight or how loose each string was supposed to be. After a few minutes of fumbling, E, A, D, G, B and E played wonderfully as his thumb danced over each of the notes. 

Takahiro experimented with the guitar for a few hours, using his fingers to find which combination of notes or chords sounded familiar. After an unknown amount of time, lost in the reverie of his playing, he found a tune that conjured an echo of a memory. 

It was of his father singing along to the radio, serenading his pop in the kitchen while they made Sunday morning pancakes. They laughed and danced and sang to one another. When the song ended, his father wrapped his arms around his papa’s slim waist and rested his cheek on his shoulder. They swayed against one another even though the music had stopped, enraptured in the beauty of their moment, of their love. 

“See the pyramids around the Nile / Watch the sun rise from the tropic isle /Just remember darling all the while /You belong to me~” 

Takahiro smiled. 

\---

Dinner was called late that evening. Takahiro walked down the stairs, guitar in hand. The tingling in his nose identified the sharp, spicy scent of hot wings before he even made it halfway down the staircase. His heart dropped; hot wings was a meal that his grandmother made when she was either celebrating something wonderful or wallowing in something terrible. He cringed as he feared the worst. 

Takahiro made his way to the dinner table. He sat down gently, careful to not jostle his newly claimed prize. As his grandmother placed the wings on the middle of the table, he lay the guitar over his thigh. His grandmother sat down across from him. Her pleasant expression was shaky, the foundation of which looked as though it would collapse at any moment. 

Takahiro swallowed passed the thick lump that formed in his throat. “Hey, uh, I wanna play something for you.” 

Cass’ smile secured itself at the ends. “Sure!” she chirped with indulgent enthusiasm. 

Takahiro looked down to where his fingers rested against the nylon strings. His foot tapped a cadence beneath him. Once he found a comfortable rhythm, he plucked the strings with an expert precision as his other hand moved steadily over the stem of the guitar. The ballad played beautifully, filling the room with wonderful music that lacked the bumpy clumsiness that usually came with his level of amateurism. 

Every so often, the palm of his plucking hand would knock against the wood of the guitar, giving off the illusion of percussion. 

“And I am nothing of a builder /But here I dreamt I was an architect,” he began to sing softly, “And I built this balustrade/ To keep you home, to keep you safe/ From the outside world /But the angles and the corners /Even though my work is unparalleled /They never seemed to meet /This structure fell about our feet/ And we were free to go ~” 

Takahiro looked up at his grandmother, who was leaning her head against her propped hand. Her gaze was soft. Her expression was placid. A sweet smile found its way onto her lips. Takahiro smiled back.“And try one, and try two/Guess it always comes down to/Alright, okay, guess it's better to turn out this way~”

Takahiro strummed a few more chords before ending the song with one finally, extended manipulation of the strings. 

Cass clapped her hands excitedly as she bounced in her chair. Her smile transformed into the brightest of grins, which illuminated the rest of her face. She squealed her cheers. 

Takahiro carefully placed the guitar onto the ground near his seat. He gave a slight, playful bow before straightening his back against his seat. 

“Your father used to play that song for Hiro when they were younger,” Cass explained passed the ghost of a chuckle that rested on the back of her throat, “Did your dad teach you to play it?” 

Takahiro shook his head. He reached out and took a wing from the shared plate. “Nah, I heard him sing it to pops, once. I was just sort of messing around with the guitar and found a tune that sounded like it.” 

“So, I take that as a sign that you’re okay?” Cass asked carefully as she took her own piece of food.

Takahiro nodded despite how firm his smile felt and how tense his shoulders were. He knew that from now on, each time he looked in the mirror and saw his father staring back at him, he would question the morality of his conception. But, yeah, he was okay. At least, he will be.


End file.
